BF3 Life in War
by Unguided
Summary: Follow David Gortchavez throughout the Russo-American war. Through ups and downs, good health and dire injury everything will be documented.
1. Ridiculed its a bit short

A/N I do intend to keep this going for some time unlike my RvB attempt which was really poor.

As David Gortchavez woke up groggily from his light sleep, last night's patrol was still in his head and every part tired him out like he felt now. David dragged his hand across his face to wake himself up. What he felt though was odd, his face was cracked and dry. Hells if my squad had pulled another prank on me I was gonna make sure I'd volunteer us to clean the shit pits, he mused. That extra $10 a week would be enough to treat himself to that new subway combo everyone was talkin' about. He tried moving his head yet to no success. He tried again, he gained some leverage and his head was forced back down.

"What the hell have you guys done ," David blurted out but he choked on the last two as a warm liquid from his stomach flooded his mouth. David swallowed it back down to his tongue's disgust and his face wrinkled up cracking some more.

"Damn sir you talk crazy shit while dosed up on morphine I'd have thought that much would have sedated you," joked a voice. Panicking David lifted his head with much more force than he would have expected and saw what would have launched most into hysterics. Then it all pieced together now. That patrol was 4 years ago in Afghan when he was a lowly private he had no authority back then. His tent had turned into a suddenly taller more spacious tile riddled room. David's head was forced back down to refuse him the sight of gore lower down on his body. It was obvious to him why his face was dry and cracked. Blood spray. His face focused on the tiles and he thought to himself, what the fuck was he doing in the toilets. Realising what was keeping his head down didn't restrict him from turning his head side to side. He turned his head to the right and saw a figure in a Boonie hat and just above the figure was a sign saying metro. That's all he saw, his vision went black, he felt cold and the only thing he heard was silence.

Waking with a start Davids muscles were torn from lifelessness back to the brink. 1000 volts riddled my nerves and he lost control he moved in a horrible convulsive motion before being restrained. The 1000 volts corrected his irregular heart beat but had wiped every ounce of morphine from him. Feeling this searing pain he entered a deranged mumbling. Someone slapped his face to get his attention. He turned to see a battle worn man look down on him the grey eyes let no emotion in or out and even as David saw them, mocking him. They had to clean him make him safe so they mocked him in return. This man's unwavering emotions and calm posture relaxed David, thank god for combat medics.

"You are not dyeing on my watch ya here me, I'm going to make sure you get through this," shouted the ragged medic. David nodded and a high pitch mumble came out of his mouth as he applied pressure to his wound. The boonie wearing figure was again resting against the wall despite the ensuing battle and what was happening next to them. David's right hand gestured towards them. They rested the rifle against the wall and took David's hand.

"Where gonna get you out of here sarge," stated an instantly recognisable female voice. Their name was printed on the name bar on the standard issue greens she was wearing . Her hand was still in his not in the affectionate sense but to will him on. He thanked her silently as this would be a weird time to announce love and nor did he have any feelings for her. Withdrawing his hand he went for his admin pouch but he was suddenly bombarded with disapprovals of his action.

"Admin pouch, tactical map, pen," was all David could muster up. Henderson went for his admin pouch unzipping it she passed him a pen and placed the map in front of him. On the map there was a series of the letters A and B scrawled in red ink which were crossed out, destroyed and plans of attack which up until now were working. The map displayed the interior of the station where he was and outside where the last set of A and B markings were, but they weren't crossed out. Setting to work with what little time he had conscious left he scrawled strategic movements during which he was interrupted with bouts of pain and an injection of morphine. Finished he assigned Henderson with executing what was scrawled on the map. Looking at the medic one last time he said.

"I stemmed the bleeding as best I could and cleaned the wound. It was more of a flesh wound what you saw not the actual stuff it wasn't that bad. You're free to drop out but someone will have to stay to check your pulse." Just before whiting out David heard "this seems plausible" grinning he faded out of consciousness.


	2. Ivran

**A/N Long time since I posted the first chapter so it's about time I updated. So here it is chapter 2 and a shout out to Bloodmark Mentor for his help in my dilemma between 3****rd**** and 1****st**** person. I realise that there may be a few transferrals between 3****rd**** and 1****st**** person in the first chapter I apologise but I want this book to be about me succeeding in becoming a better writer so I will leave all mistakes in on purpose and if you point them out to me it helps me realise what I can build on. In the first chapter a short sentence was missing see if you find where it should have gone. "" that's the quote you get the right place then you get a cookie.(::) Also David is a lieutenant not a sergeant you'll see why later on. Many thanks Unguided.**

**Chapter 2: Ivran**

Ivran wasn't having a good day he had lost a member of his squad and the other two were injured. Instead of falling back to be extracted with the rest of his squad he tagged along to replace Charlie squad's sniper who had unfortunately ran into some angry civilians and had been held up. Ivran himself didn't believe the Americans and Brits had the manpower and ability to respond so quickly. "Trust GRU and all other Russian intelligence services to feed us shit intel," Ivran said to himself. Ivran cursed his luck and continued his train of thought. The RAF was doing carrier training with the French and the British regiment transferring into Germany, then the airborne unit and air wing stationed at Ramstein was the cherry on top. Concentrating on the hallway which had funnelled so many hapless Americans into his sight as opposed to 10 minutes ago the hallway was dead and ghostly stained with the blood of many Americans and Russians alike. "Give it two years and all this will be forgotten and their resting places will be trampled like so many before them," murmured Ivran so everyone on the open channel could here. Even the Americans.

"A little philosophical for my liking or was it just to indicate were no longer the red menace we used to be," laughed Ramkov Charlie's squad leader. "Just keep focused, the transports will be here in five."

"Copy," was simply Ivran's reply. To him this amount of death could have been averted if the GRU had sent their team of men. Well if they had planned to send any it was still rumours and probably would be forever. But no 2000 airborne would get it done. We did it we got the nuke back and it had already been sent back to Russia but all calls for a cease fire had been ignored. By us of course. Now we were using civilian jets to get us out of Paris which we had entered scarcely 5 hours ago. He couldn't go on the first convoy which would drive him 28 km to Charles de Gualle airport. So he was stuck with the second one to pass through this area. Charlie brigade along with Charlie squad was next to be picked up, or so he hoped. Walking would have been suicide so he was playing the waiting game. Ivran again scanned his QBU-88 and its 4 x magnifier site on the stained and rubble covered hallway for his nemesis. He found them the boonie wearing figure that had pulled his last victim to safety. But as opposed to the normal trace and shoot which had forced Ivran to duck and dodged so many times, they ran to the centre dodging the 3 bullets he put down range and reaching the centre pillar. Ivran cursed himself for not being prepared and taking down his prey when it was exposed this would haunt him later on surely. Shrugging off the recoil of his gun he placed his magnified sight dead centre of the pillar distorting the very edges of his vision. Another bad decision among his others, suddenly two tanks of a human if they could be called human burst from the edge of where the boonie wearing figure had emerged seconds earlier. Before he had a chance to shift his gun they started opening fire. The sound pierced the silence a knife would the skin, skittish form the sudden thunder of bullets, he dodged left behind the wall next to the window, realising the tanks would guess where he was hiding and trap him with bursts of fire or simply riddle his back with steaming hot copper, he dropped to the floor. The ammo vest he was wearing didn't favour any of those forced to drop to the ground winding him and a sudden crack. "Fuck," growled Ivran, turning his head to check if any of his mags were broken but was met with a different sight. The fabric of his urban camouflaged was torn and about an inch down from his shoulder blood slowly bubbled out of the wound. Instead of being instilled with the panic which he had faced when he gained his first battle scar his body simply relayed the need for adrenalin and fast. Almost simultaneously he regained a response from his right arm with very little pain.

Turning to face the opposite side of his face was immediately peppered with splintered wood. He pulled his goggles down, then immediately set off crawling to the other side of the room while 7.62mm bullets whizzed overhead impacting and pelting him with shavings and debris. The hounding wave of death stopped and Ivran picked his chance and stood up to run around the almost semi-circle apartment. Simultaneously with his first step he heard two putffs and the sour feeling of being chased down by grenades, halfway into the second half of the semi-circle apartment the first m320 round impacted where he had once been sniping the second passed behind him impacting on the wall three metres away from him it propelled him into the hall way. The smell of feet, alcohol and what was most likely sick insulted his nose and he instantly scrunched it up in disgust. Ivran now feeling tired and oddly comfy where he lay after the explosion he strained himself to plod down the stairs allowing his boots to hit the concrete steps with all his weight. Reaching for his radio he let out a sigh with all of the fight knocked out of him he considered whether the Americans would take prisoners, but that thought could wait until he checked if Ramkov was alive.

"Charlie 3-1 this is Charlie 3-4, respond over," stated Ivran into his radio allowing his thick Russian accented voice bounce around the stairs to the landing. He took three more steps, no return, two more steps then he heard clicking.

"Drop the weapon, walk outside, stand face against the wall, arms on your head," demanded a voice. Ivran was happy to oblige it was better than 'get ready to die mother fucker'.

In response in his best English he shouted back "I'm coming out just don't shoot me," he was greeted with what was a more pleasing sight, if it could be said in that context. Rather than being Americans it was labelled so plainly to see on their shoulder. The 5th Rifles, atleast it was the Brits he wouldn't deal with the shit that the Americans would give him. Just before being forced into a wall he caught sight of Ramkov and the rest of Charlie squad faces against the side of a Scimitar AFV which was accompanied with a single warrior, 2 vectors and a single Spartan. Inside of the semicircle of the vehicles were those of the extraction team. Then he was faced with brick which was radiating a days heat back into his face.


End file.
